


All Satellites

by almostjulie



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn POV, M/M, PWP, but not without feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11194350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostjulie/pseuds/almostjulie
Summary: Time is a luxury Finn’s not had before.He intends to make the most of it.





	All Satellites

**Author's Note:**

> Come on by [tumblr](https://starshipsandhighseas.tumblr.com/) and say hi if that's your thing.

Time is a luxury he’s not had before. 

Life in the Resistance is a big change, certainly, but in reality it’s not as big as most people assume. The food may have improved, but there are still set times for meals. The work may be more fair, more meaningful, the punishments less draconian, but Finn still has a commanding officer to report to and duties to fulfill. 

Sex, too, is not new; hurried couplings in the fresher block or before the troopers put on their armor for the day were not unheard of in the First Order. Officers would generally look the other way as long as it didn’t interfere with assignments, and there was a basic understanding that sexual frustration was not goof for moral, or for what passed for moral in the Order. Sheets were laundered every ten days, and the night before laundry day was a solitary but shared experience for stormtroopers -- the quickening breaths and creaking bed frames of his bunkmates a clear indication of what they all were doing. 

But the options, the freedoms here, in sex and most other things, are an adjustment -- and a happy one, but sometimes the changes come so fast Finn forgets to appreciate them. 

And make no mistake -- time is a luxury here, too. There are still duty rotations and commanding officers to report to, still the possibility of an all-hands alarm at any time. But there’s a growing sense that his time is own, an understanding that no one is keeping him here, that he can leave whenever he wants, and that he stays because he _wants_ to. 

***

They’re kissing. Poe’s hand is pulling at the hem of Finn’s shirt, and Finn is starting to feel that familiar, welcome warmth pool at the base of his belly. They’ve done this before, more than a dozen times: mornings, evenings, off-duty days and lunch breaks, and, once, in a storage closet of the hangar, after they’d lost radio contact with Poe for three days. Poe is leaning into him, and Finn needs this, needs him, but thinks about time, and how to make the most of it, and how he has nowhere to be for hours and hours, so he pulls back, to catch his breath, and to give himself a second to think about how to explain to Poe what he wants tonight.

Poe speaks first. “Take your time,” he says, likely not realizing the import of his words. Finn intends to do just that.

Poe looks at him, expectantly, hand still on the hem of his shirt. Finn nods, and Poe helps him out of it and strips out of his own. He leans back in, reaching for Finn, but Finn presses him back down onto the mattress, a hand flat against his chest, gentle but insistent. “Okay?” he asks, even as he feels Poe relax beneath him.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you want.” 

Finn nods, capturing Poe’s wrists and pressing them into the mattress, too. “Stay there, okay?” Finn leans over Poe and presses a kiss to his check, then says into the shell of his ear, “I want to take my time, want to taste you,” and he takes Poe’s earlobe between his teeth and pulls. 

“Fuck,” Poe says, on an exhale. It’s barely more than a whisper. 

Poe’d been flying earlier, and when Finn leans in close and breathes deep there’s still and undercurrent of stale cockpit air clinging to him. It’s a smell that follows all the pilots like a cape, but Finn associates it with Poe alone.

He moves back to Poe’s mouth, committing to memory the way he tastes, the warm slide of his tongue, the way his eyes grow dark when Finn runs a hand through his hair and tugs. He works his way down the column of Poe’s neck, feeling it rise and fall beneath him when Poe swallows. He pauses at Poe’s collarbone, grazes his teeth against it, smiles into Poe’s skin at the sharp intake of breath the action earns him in response.

He travels further, taking a nipple into in his mouth and rolling his tongue against it, feeling it harden into a peak, matching the movement as best he can on the other one with the pad of his thumb, drawing moans from deep inside Poe. Finn moans, too, a symbiotic response. 

He inches down, leaving a trail of wet kisses on Poe’s torso, hands skimming down his flanks. Finn takes his time, pausing occasionally to nip or suck a little longer before moving on, tongue eventually dipping into Poe’s naval, then following the trail of hair further south. 

Finn has to move away as he works Poe’s pants off, then readjusts, settling between Poe’s legs, eyes on Poe’s leaking cock, then up to his face, where he sees Poe watching him. When their eyes meet, Poe licks his lips -- a brief flash of pink tongue --- and Finn finds himself salivating in response, his own cock straining against the confines of his pants. 

He sits back on his heels, catching his breath, deciding what he wants to do next. He runs his hands up Poe’s thighs and watches Poe’s fingers twist into the sheets. 

“How are you doing?” Finn asks as he works the top button of his own fly open, sighs at the relief. 

Poe’s hips buck slightly, chasing the loss of contact, and Finn can tell he’s trying hard to stay as still as possible and let Finn run this show. “Never better,” Poe replies, and there’s more than an edge of need in his voice. 

Finn pitches forward, hands braced on either side of Poe’s head. This close, Poe’s body heat radiates off him, and Finn feels like he’s outside, standing under a sun at midday. 

“Iolo was right, you are a terrible liar.” 

“Can I _please_ touch you?” Poe says. 

The yes is barely out of Finn’s mouth before Poe’s hand is at the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. His other hand comes up to rest on Finn’s hip. To Finn’s surprise, he doesn’t pull him closer, just holds him there, sighing in relief at the contact. 

Poe makes a small, hurt sound when Finn eventually pulls away again, but Finn keeps eye contact as he backs up, back down Poe’s body, and watches the dawning realization play out over Poe’s face. 

Finn settles back between Poe’s legs and takes his cock in his hand. He feels the weight of it as it thickens in his palm. He runs his hand up and down it a few times, feather-light and teasing, before giving into the incoherent pleading sounds Poe is making. 

He licks at the head, swirls his tongue around it, tasting the bitterness. He takes it deeper, fractions of an inch at a time. “Kriff, Finn,” Poe says, and Finn’s cock twitches in response. 

Finn grinds into the mattress for a second, and involuntary betrayal of his hips, before remembering himself and refocusing. If he gives in, this will be over far too soon. Still, he shimmies out of his pants and kicks them away. He experiments, testing what sounds he can draw out of Poe with a hollowing of his cheeks or by cupping Poe’s balls, or, back further, circling his entrance with a finger. He studies what makes Poe’s muscles go taut, what makes his skin flush, committing everything to memory for next time, and the next time, and the time after that, for as long as the galaxy lets them have this. 

He relaxes his throat until he takes all of Poe, down to the base, then slowly pulls off again. 

Finn crawls back up Poe’s body and kisses him again, lets Poe taste himself. Poe moves his hand to Finn’s shoulder, thumbs over the scar there. It makes Finn shiver and want to press closer -- absorb some of Poe’s heat. 

Finn gives in then, reaching between their bodies and gathering them both in his hand. 

He bucks against Poe’s cock and into his own hand, finding a rhythm and building on it. Poe hisses at the friction, too, and rises up to match him. 

After all Finn’s put him through, it doesn’t take Poe much longer. He watches Poe’s face, his lip blanching as he bits down on it, pupils dark as a starless sky, and Poe spills out over his hand. Finn let’s Poes softening cock go, and Finn readjusts his grip on his own. He pulls and twists, three, four more times, and nearly collapses as he comes -- the only thing stopping him Poe bracing his sides -- and he looks down to see his come painting Poe’s belly and chest, mixing with Poe’s own. 

He does collapse, then, panting into Poe’s shoulder, chest to chest with him, a warm stickiness between them. 

They lay there together for Finn’s not sure how long, until he comes back to his senses, Poe’s fingertips trailing in a slow, even pattern up and down his back. Finn becomes cognizant of his weight and rolls of of Poe, who shifts over to make room for them to lay side by side. 

Finn finds Poe’s hand and squeezes it. Poe squeezes back, raises their hands to his lips and kisses Finn’s knuckles. 

He should move, should clean himself up, should check his data pad to make sure he’s not needed somewhere. 

But there’s time for all that later.


End file.
